A Tale of Secrets
by MorgaineStrange
Summary: Harry has a secret, but Occlumency makes keeping secrets very hard. Even for the best. Warning: A little SLASH here and there. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**I'm not J. K. Rowling, therefore I do not own neither Harry nor Snape nor anything else related to the HP-universe. But it'd be pretty rad if I did...**

"The headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term." Snape said. "Who's going to teach me?" Harry asked. Snape raised an eyebrow. "I am," he said.

Harry closed his eyes, replaying the conversation in his mind, remembering how Snape had told Sirius that Harry was very much like his father, so arrogant he would not take criticism to heart. He turned over to lie on his back and stared into the darkness enveloping him. He'd been taking Occlumency lessons for a while now, and it was frustrating and tiring and he hated spending evenings at Snape's office. He rolled over on his side, curling up under the blanket and hugging his knees. The knowledge that tomorrow he would once again have to go through it was depressing. Harry sighed, and tried to get some sleep.

"You are not trying, Potter!" Snape said, his voice thick with contempt "you are handing me your mind so readily I am tempted to think you want me to take control of it!"

Harry clenched his fists and stared at the floor in Snape's office. Once again Snape had entered his mind, once again had he seen things, Harry did not want anyone, least of all Snape, to know. He felt his cheeks burn with shame as he thought of the memories that had flashed before his eyes. "Get up, Potter, and empty your mind. By Merlin, boy, you of all people should not find that hard!"

Harry gritted his teeth and stood up, trying to contain the anger, the embarrasment, the urge to talk back. "Yes, sir" he said, staring straight at Severus. This time, he would not let him in. "Good... _Legilimens_!"

He was at his first Quidditch match, soaring on his broom, chasing the snitch... He was in the broom closet under the stairs, playing with toy soldiers, hearing Dudley and his friends argue over whose turn it was to play computer... He was in the dormitory, watching Dean Thomas change, taking in his smooth, chocolate brown skin...

"NO!" he heard himself yell, as a searing pain in his head made him realize he was, again, on all four and had hit his head on the desk.

He sat up, panting, face flushed, palms sweaty, a cold dread creeping over him. Had Snape seen? Had he seen this, his most intimate secret? His eyes darted to Snape's face. He wore his usual expression of utter distaste, revealing nothing whatsoever. Let him not have seen this. Please, please, let him not know this, Harry thought to himself, clenching his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms.

"We are not getting anywhere with this. You are weak, Potter. The Dark Lord will have no trouble taking over your mind if you do not make an effort!" Snape turned his back and started sorting papers on his desk. "You may leave."

Harry slowly got up and went to the door. As he opened it, he turned his head and shot one last glance at Snape. His back and the flowing black robes, revealed nothing. He desperately hoped Snape had not seen flashes of this.

As soon as the door closed, Snape turned around. His lips curled up as he watched the heavy wooden door through which Potter had left. "Most interesting," he mumbled to himself, tracing the outline of his mouth with a finger, "most interesting indeed."

He sat down at the desk and tapped it with his wand. A drawer popped open that had not been there a moment before. He reached into the drawer and pulled out a picture. James and Lily Potter smiled and waved at him from the black and white photograph in the frame. He smiled a soft smile, a smile he never let anyone see, and caressed the picture. Then he abruptly put it back in the drawer and shut it. The drawer instantly vanished from sight, leaving no indication of it ever having existed.

Snape stood up, arranged his robe, and went out in the corridor.

**This is my first ever try at fanfiction – be gentle! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Still don't own anything. Wish I did.**

**I hope the layout for this one will look better, I'm using a different browser to upload because Chrome is being mean.**

The next day Harry had Potions. He went straight to his chair and sat down, not looking at Snape once. He dared not, fearing he would see the nasty glint in Snape's eye that would tell him he knew. He absentmindedly listened to Snape's instrutions while he unpacked the ingredients for the potion they were supposed to make – Drowsy Drought.

"Potter!"

Snape's hiss made Harry sit bolt upright.

"Yes, sir?"

He tried to keep his focus on Snape's chin so as to avoid his eyes.

"What are the effects of wobbergobble tail?"

Harry drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Tell me, Potter!"

"I... I don't know, sir," he said, looking down and closing his eyes.

He didn't listen to the scolding he received for not doing his homework, instead he shot a glance at Hermione. She gave him a small smile and shook her head. He smiled and went back to the potion.

By the end of the class Neville had been taken to Madam Pomfrey with a small concussion, due to him inhaling too many fumes from his cauldron. Surprisingly, though, both Hermione and Harry had the milky green substance they were supposed to have. Harry had no idea how he had managed to do it, his mind being filled with the terror of Snape's possible knowledge. He poured the mixture into a flask that he was supposed to hand in, and then, as an afterthought, he poured some in an extra flask. He might need some help sleeping before the next Occlumency lesson.

"What did you do in Occlumency last night?" Ron asked, as they walked back to the common room. Harry tried to look surprised and innocent when he replied.

"We practiced. Snape was mean and contemptuous and that's about it. Why do you ask?"

Ron shook his head.

"No reason, it's just...Snape looked at you in a funny way today."

Harry's heart skipped a beat when he heard Ron's words.

"...Funny?" was all he managed to get out, desperate to sound normal. Ron nooded .

"Yeah, like he was thinking really hard about something concerning you."

"I don't know what that would be. Probably some new nasty trick to make Occlumency even worse." As if it's not terrible already, he added to himself. He sped up, wanting to get to the common room as fast as possible. As soon as they reached it he headed for the dormitory.

"I have a headache," He said over his shoulder to Ron, who shrugged and sat down on the couch in front of the fire.

Once Harry entered the dormitory he checked that he was alone, crawled in bed and closed the curtains. He curled up into a ball and let the tears of humiliation flow. The thought of Snape knowing his secret was unbearable. His body shook with the silent sobs, which abruptly stopped when he heard the door being opened. He quickly sat up, dried his eyes and cleared his throat.

"Hi Harry, is something wrong?" He heard Dean ask.

"No! No I just...I have a headache, that's all,"

"Okay. Are you coming to dinner?"

"I don't think so. I'm not hungry." He heard the door close and lay back on his back staring at nothing. It was horrible. Knowing that _he_ knew. The special feeling he had cherished for months now was destroyed. It had turned into something sick and perverted when he viewed it through Snape's eyes. He slowly got up, undressed and went back to bed. As soon as he lay there he remembered the Drowsy Draught. He found it and poured a drop on his tongue. The mixture tasted like grapes and as soon as he'd swallowed it he felt it take effect. Quickly he put the flask under his pillow, closed his eyes and went to sleep.

After dinner, Snape went to his office and sat down at the desk. He produced the picture from the secret drawer and looked at it. A single drop fell on the glass as he stared at the face he held so dear. The face of the one he'd lost so many years ago, but never stopped loving.

He put the photograph back as he heard a knock on the door. His face set in the usual expression of dislike, he got up and went to open the door.

**More to come! Unless my muse decides to desert me in the middle of this.**


	3. Chapter 3

**The name blood quill is not canon, but I like it. I think this is going to be the last chapter, I hope you've enjoyed my first shot at fanfiction. I'll return with more fanfiction some other time!**

Harry kept using the Drowsy Drought every evening as his next Occlumency lesson drew nearer. It worked its magic and let him sleep. Sleep, and forget for a few hours that Snape knew what no one else was supposed to know. Or so he thought. As the days passed he was almost able to convince himself, that Snape had simply been wondering about something and looked at Harry by accident. Almost. Every now and then the gray, slimy feeling of shame enveloped him and made him hate himself and the fact that he was so attracted to Dean Thomas. The tender affection had been crushed like a flower under Snape's hard, black eyes, crushed and turned into something to be ashamed of. Harry hated Snape for that and himself for letting it influence him. "It's not wrong," he thought to himself, "it's as natural as breathing," but he still could not look at Dean Thomas in quite the same way.

It was hard to practice making his mind go blank since he fell asleep so quickly in the evenings, but he tried doing it during Defense Against the Dark Arts. Trying to block out Dolores Umbridge was hard but he figured, that making it hard would only make it more effective when he succeded.

"Mr. Potter, are you listening to me?"

Harry heard Dolores' poisoned honey voice and opened his eyes to look at her. She shook her head. "Five points from Gryffindor. You should pay attention to this, Mr. Potter, or I will have to put you in detention." She smiled appreciatively at the thought. Harry held back a shudder and nodded. "I will," he said, trying to keep the disgust from his voice. She was sick, twisted and sadistic and he would not let her get the satisfaction of seeing how the thought of the blood quill affected him.

When he entered Snape's office that evening, Snape was standing with his back on him. "Potter, I sincerely hope you have improved since last we tried this," he said coldly, not looking up.

Harry closed the door behind him and took a deep breath.

"I hope so too, sir," he said, hating how his voice sounded strained.

Snape turned around, but instead of the mocking, condescending smirk Harry expected his face was serious and showed no hint of amusement.

"Let us begin then. _Legilimens!_"

Snape left Harry no time to prepare, and like other evenings his mind was flooded with memories. He managed to block Snape out eventually, but it was far from the ease with which he would have to do it to keep Voldemort from entering his mind.

"Potter," Snape snarled "you are a disgrace to the art of Occlumency."

Harry had to use every bit of willpower to keep from talking back. He got his wand out and tried to clear his mind.

"I am ready now, professor."

"_Legilimens!"_

The memories started flooding his vision. Without hesitation Harry pointed his wand at Snape.

"_Protego!_"

The spell caught Snape off guard. Suddenly Harry found himself watching memories that were most definitely not his.

A lanky teenager with greasy hair watched as a dark-haired boy sat down by the lake. Harry gasped when he recognized himself. No, he corrected in his mind, not himself. His father. The same messy hair, the same hands, even the glasses looked familiar. The eyes were different, and the nose was longer, but the resemblance was striking. The young Snape watched intently as James laughed at something a handsome, young Sirius said. Harry saw the longing in his eyes and he drew a sharp breath as he realized what was going on.

"_Stupefy!_"

Abruptly the visions stopped, and Harry toppled over, his body not obeying him anymore. He closed his eyes as the floor rose up to meet him and his mind filled with nothing but darkness.

Snape looked at the figure sprawled on the floor before him, his face set in an expression of disbelief and horror. He had done it, the Potter-boy, and _he had seen_. Snape cursed himself for letting his guard down as he turned the boy over with his foot. His eyes were closed, and for a moment Snape was taken aback by how much he looked like his father. Like James. He looked swiftly at the closed door, then he kneeled beside the stunned young man and traced the jawline with a finger. He winced at the familiar pain when he remembered the tormenting and the angry, desperate feeling of unrequited love. The way his insides had shattered when he had seen the same longing in James' eyes, only directed at Lily Evans. The lost friend who had gotten what he had wished for so badly: the love of James Potter.

His features softened slightly as he took in Harry's messy hair, a feature that was so distinctively inherited from his father.

He closed his eyes as the pain seared through him again, threatening to overpower him. It was his fault he had died. It was he who had told of the prophecy to Voldemort. He drew a long breath and let it out slowly, letting the pain wash over him in waves. This was his punishment, lying before him. This was the proof that James had loved someone else. The constant reminder that he would now never be his. This boy, who looked so much like James was not him. The emerald green eyes was not James'. He cast a last, long glance at the face of his beloved and stood up. Harry would wake up soon, but he would not let him remember this.

"_Obliviate."_

**This was originally supposed to be longer, but my muse decided to, not desert, but turn on me and made me hate my ideas for further development, so I'm going to leave you with this. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.**


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